maison du buerre, by jeanette wall

Dear Readers,

We were so excited and overwhelmed by the poems we received for our upcoming Mundane Joys anthology that we had to share a few on The Rail! This week brings us a sensual ode to everyone's favorite food from Brooklyn-based writer jeanette wall. 

Mundane Joys celebrates the less-obvious triumphs of every day life. Each copy comes with a custom Derailleur Press tea blend and seed paper to grow a garden of your own. Visit our store to reserve yours today!

Happy reading!

- Derailleur Press

maison du buerre

i lick you off my fingers, my lips parting into a gratifying, cockslut smile 
i come to your house to feel full, satisfied, and pretend i am your french whore, whipping you in
the kitchen, elevating anything we can find into a bizarre, sensuous treat
and fuck, you make it easy, pushing me further into my pleasure as every last bit of my fatty
hands are covered in you – i close my eyes without even noticing 
you are the most delicate of food among barbarous nations, and i am the multitudes that gratify
your existence as you meld along the bottom of my tongue 
i lean over a regrettable piece of plastic, piled with toast, and marvel later at the little bits of you
on the cutting board, the tablecloth, between my legs on my chair at the dining table
and even the evidence of you that, days later, i manage to find in the folds of my sheets
it reminds me of spreading you open and shut, teasing at your flesh
with enough of you, even the most wretched, horrible crumbs of life are worth devouring
and goddammit, my love, i am famished

jeanette wall (she/they) is a writer, painter, and music industry professional in New York. She lives and works in Brooklyn with her two cat sons, Cupid and Toby. Jeanette has been teaching herself to cook, and has a tattoo of a stick of butter on her arm (among other things).